


Do Not Disturb

by sylvain



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (Bay Movies)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, Light BDSM, M/M, Male Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:21:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22860925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sylvain/pseuds/sylvain
Summary: Donnie has a favorite game.  And he'll play with you--as long as you're quiet, as long as no one catches on.
Relationships: Donatello (TMNT)/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 52





	Do Not Disturb

When Donnie walks in after patrol, you're arguing into your headset. Your thumbs are too busy rolling deftly over the joysticks of the wireless controller in your hands for you to greet your boyfriend with more than a little nod and a smile. You're sitting half-naked and semi-reclined on the small couch in the apartment you share. He takes a moment to watch; wets his lips at the sight of you. So relaxed. Your manspread is particularly impressive this evening. So inviting. 

He shucks his gear and walks around to the back of the couch so as not to interrupt right away. He places his hands on your shoulders for a light massage, slides them lower to smooth the tension from your chest and down your sides. As his hands approach the waistband of your boxers, his mouth finds your neck for a lazy kiss. He whispers a hello against your skin and kisses you again. "I'm going to wash up," he says. "Don't let me disturb your game."

A thrill shoots up your spine and warmth curls low in the pit of your belly. You recognize the command: "Don't let me disturb your game."

Donnie's shower is thorough. His absence is agonizingly long. And when he returns he smells like sex. You wonder if he jerked himself off in the shower or if you're just imagining things... sometimes he *looks* like sex on legs, so why wouldn't your brain equate his freshly showered scent to the same? 

He sits close to you on the couch, his knee pressed against yours. His hand finds its resting place on your thigh. You squirm as he gives you a little squeeze. 

He scoots closer, slides his hand farther. It's still just a rub, forward and back. Light squeezes and small circles drawn by his fingertips along your inner thigh. But it gets you going. 

You're on headset, talking strategy with your team and Donnie's already making it hard to think clearly.

His hand inches higher, still not quite where you want it to be, when he turns toward you. Peppers kisses over your shoulder and up your neck. His kisses turn to nips and then love bites until he starts to suck. He loves to mark you as his. He pulls at the collar of his sweatshirt, so glad it's so loose. It gives him much desired access to the wonderful canvas for the bruises you'll wear all week. You bite your lips together and breathe sharply through your nose. 

He foregoes his hold on the shirt to clamp his hand over your mouth as his other hand finally massages its way from your inner thigh to your crotch.

You're hot and aching under his palm. It covers and holds you. The pressure is delicious torture. As your moan vibrates against his other hand, his teeth graze your neck. He's breathing heavy, growling praises for the thin pair of boxer briefs you wear. The ones that hide nothing and strain over your arousal.

His lower hand starts to move. The heel of his palm massaging you. His fingers sliding down to tease. 

You moan again and this time his whispers are a warning. He's going to remove the hand from your mouth now. But you need to be quiet. He trusts you to be quiet. You're his good boy and he wants to make you feel good, like you deserve.

His hand leaves your lips slowly and he lowers himself from the couch to kneel between your legs.

His second hand joins the first, to tease and pleasure. Together they slide up and down your thighs as he smiles up at you. Just to look at you, biting at your lips, arching your back, trying so desperately to keep a sliver of attention on the game... It has him rock hard in his sweats. 

His strong hands grab hold of your thighs, bracketing your crotch so just his thumbs are on your center. Tracing the lines of you--your cock, your balls. When you start to buck your hips for more of his touch, he hums in approval. His thumbs press harder. They roll in circles and they give you a light squeeze. But Donnie is eager. He's hungry. He's missed you.

The sight of you holding back… how good you're being for him despite the wet spot growing on your boxers, he can't hold himself at bay much longer. His own pants are tented. His cock is leaking. It'll show through the fabric soon enough.

He ducks down between your legs, brings his mouth to you. Drops light kisses to your pelvis and lower. Nuzzles the place between his thumbs. Then slowly, savoring the moment he can taste you, drags his tongue over your heat.

Donnie traces the length of your cock. And feeling it swell beneath his tongue makes his own ache in want for your touch. But right now his focus is on you. So he refrains from even rocking in place, refrains from granting himself the sweet friction of his sweatpants against his cock. Yours is the only one that matters and right now yours is hot and throbbing against his mouth.

  
  


Donnie mouths at the head of your dick and moans. His breath is hot on your pelvis and his hands are gripping you hard on your hips. Still, he lets you thrust against his lips. 

You're biting the collar of his sweatshirt to muffle your whimpering. You need the game to end. You need his lips on your skin again. You tap his shoulder frantically as your hips stutter under his ministrations. And he looks up at you with a wicked smile as his tongue plays with the buttoned opening of your boxers.

You shake your head to tell him you can't take it anymore. Not like this. Not while you need to stay quiet.

Donnie tells you what a good boy you are as he gives a kiss to the underside of your cock. He orders you to tell your team you need to go. 

You're not logged off for a second when he grabs your boxers at the seam. With his strength, they tear easily and your cock springs free.

When he takes you into his mouth, you are finally able to let go. You throw your head back, lay your hand on the top of his head, and rock into him over and over. Finally being able to moan and move feels like heaven. It's almost as good as having his tongue swirling around the head of your cock. The tight ring of his lips moving up and down your shaft feels so good that Donnie's name gets caught in your throat on a groan. 

He allows you this freedom of sound and movement for a minute before taking your wrists in his hands and pinning them to the couch. He pulls off of you with a wet smack of his lips and reminds you who's in charge.

You nod eagerly, greedily. You remember. You're his. You'll do whatever he asks. You'll hold still and keep your hands to yourself as long as he gets back to sucking you off.

Donnie sucks and bobs and you do your best to hold your hips down, pressing your ass against the couch as hard as you can to keep from fucking his face. His hands help you. They hold you tight enough to leave bruises - the kind you'll cherish in the morning.

You pant and groan when Donnie picks up his pace. 

He's moaning too. And moving. You can see him canting his own hips now, no matter how hard he tries to stop it. Hypocrite. Mmm, he's such a fucking hypocrite. But fuck... his mouth. Yes, fuck his mouth.

When you come, your hips arch against his hands so hard it hurts. Your dick pulses with pleasure and you feel him force the head of your cock into his throat so he can swallow your come as you finish. The muscles of his throat work every last drop from you and then he sucks as he pulls off. 

It's overstimulating. You see stars. He licks the last dribbles of come from the head of your cock, causing you to cry out and shudder.

You're still lost in the throes of ecstacy when you feel him standing between your legs. When he pulls you into his lap on the floor. When you feel him fish out his cock from his sweatpants and wrap his large hand around the pair of your dicks. 

His hand is slick with lube from the end table (you fuck around in the livingroom often enough to keep it on hand) and the slide is easy. His hand works over both of you. You're still hard but ready to wilt. He, on the other hand, is fit to burst. 

Feeling your cock against his, having his mouth on your neck again, being able to kiss you as deeply as he wants now that his mouth is otherwise unoccupied, sends him racing toward the edge of orgasm.

His breaths are sharp and heavy. He chants your name in time with his thrusts into his fist. He comes over you hot and sticky and you're both definitely in need of a shower. But later. Because right now you don't think you can move. 


End file.
